caught in the act
by caniex
Summary: "He made them himself. It was tedious and painful; he's never been a fan of needles in particular, even if it was just simple stitching and sewing. It would've been much easier to just ask someone else to do it but Al or Roy wouldn't ever let him live it down, and Winry? Quite frankly, he didn't even want to know how she'd react. " ed's got far too big an ego and winry finds out.


**pairing:** ed/winry  
**rating:** k+ for language  
**a/n:** based completely and totally off of this which i laughed at for app. 5 years  
**a/n2:** god i hope i wrote this doesn't suck bc i really want to do this justice bc that headcanon literally made me cry  
**a/n3:** totally didn't proofread this so expect mistakes iM SORRY

**enjoy!~**

* * *

"Ed!" Winry calls from the kitchen, frowning at her refrigerator and it's evident lack of contents. "Can you come here for a minute?"

It only takes a moment until she hears the unmistakable thump of two legs - one automail, one flesh and blood - and her bumbling husband appears beside her; their newborn, Sara, cradled in his arms and two-year old, Evan, hanging off of his shoulder. The toddler flashes a familiar grin at his mother which she graciously returns; momentarily forgetting her irritance before Ed speaks up.

"S'up?"

She blinks. _Oh, right__._ She motions to the almost-empty, aside from the baby food, fridge and raises a skeptical eyebrow. "Care to explain?"

He purses his lips and she can practically read his mind; he's clearly trying to think up an excuse. His chin crinkles and his eyebrows furrow together and his jaw locks and he barely bites his lip and she vaguely wonders, for a moment, who she could possibly get to watch the kids for a few hours because even when he irritates her, he has an uncanny way of looking positively -

"I was hungry?" Dumb. Moronic. Pathetic.

She rolls her eyes, forgetting her momentary arousal. "Really? That's the best you could come up with? Impossible; you are impossible."

"Hey, you're the one who married me," he flashes her his most charming grin accompanied by a wink. If she wasn't so aggravated, it might actually have worked.

She smirks; he's practically setting himself up for this.

"It's times like these I wonder why."

"Hey, shut up, Win!"

It's just too easy, sometimes, to push his buttons.

"You dork," she mutters, planting a small kiss on both of her children's cheeks, and one on her husband's lips.

"I'm going to the store. You literally ate everything, but it's only a matter of time before that appetite of yours makes an appearance, and I don't want you to starve to death,"she teases, sliding on her jacket and making her way to the front door.

"When are ya gonna be back?" He asks, trying to sound innocent.

"Mmm, probably in an hour or two, at least," she replies, opening the door and turning back to her family.

A breeze flutters through the air and flows through the ajar door; blowing Winry's blonde tresses back and causing her to pucker her features in response. He stifles a chuckle as she attempts to recover; smoothing down her jacket and readjusting her scarf and brushing her fingers through her hair.

He wonders how on earth he got so lucky.

She flashes a smile at him. "I'll see you soon. I love you."

He grins back. "Love you, too."

She blushes slightly, but it might just be the wind. She's halfway out the door when she yells over her shoulder. "Could you feed Sara and Evan while I'm gone? Their food was the only thing left untouched by you, anyway."

He smiles more mischievously than normal. "No problem! I was planning on it, anyway!"

—-

He made them himself. It was tedious and painful; he's never been a fan of needles in particular, even if it was just simple stitching and sewing. It would've been much easier to just ask someone else to do it but Al or Roy wouldn't ever let him live it down, and Winry?

Quite frankly, he didn't even want to know how she'd react. Probably a lot of yelling and smacking and a whole lot of sleeping in the guest room. He'd be lucky to get off with a few weeks of bottoming on top of it all.

That's why he never, ever, ever let his kids wear their 'special' bibs unless Mommy wasn't home. The handmade ones; gifts filled with love and a certain phrase stitched in Ed's best writing across the front.

**_'Proof that I did it with Winry Rockbell.'_**

He could barely resist; it was in his nature to boast. When he'd formally and officially proposed to Winry, he must've called every person he ever met, rubbing it in their damn faces that he finally did it. After they'd wed, he'd purposely walk up to complete strangers and introduce them as Mr. and Mrs. Elric, despite Winry's constant blushing and protests.

And when they'd found out they were expecting Evan? He'd patiently waited until she was showing just enough when he booked a photographer and sent out pictures to everyone they know; a very pregnant Winry smiling contently as Ed hugged her from behind, positively grinning like an idiot and wrapping his arms as far as he could around her belly. 'We're expecting!' He'd written largely in the margins and you could practically read the pride in his words.

He couldn't help it; he loved her, and he loved his kids, and he was proud, dammit!

The two children blink up innocently and unaware and for a second, he feels a twinge of guilt.

It's only a second later that he's smirking; grinning as wide and proud as humanly possible back down at them, contemplating sending a picture to Colonel, now General, Bastard to rub it in his smug little kidless face.

He chuckles to himself as he walks back to the kitchen, opening the fridge and beginning to prepare his children's meals when he hears it.

The front door slams.

His mind goes blank.

_No._

Boots scuff on the rug.

_Fucking hell no._

"Ed?"

_Fuck fuck fuck shit damn it I am a dead man._

"I forgot my wallet. I think it's in the kitchen…"

The kitchen. Which she will have to walk past the dining table to enter. Which means she'll see…

The silverware clatters to the ground and his eyes immediately bolt to the adjacent room where his children - and more importantly, those damn bibs - are.

He doesn't even process it; he just _sprints_. His mind is a whir of wrench and welding tools and concussions as he races to get those damn things off before he winds up a dead man.

He bursts into the room, anxiously searching to calculate his wife's location in the house when she brushes past him, strolling into the kitchen.

The action scares him half to death.

His heart leaps out of his goddamn chest and he backs into the wall and he's already breathing raggedly and his brain is screaming at him to get the hell out of dodge before she does something crazy like spin around and chuck and wrench at him.

But she walks past him like he isn't even there; like all is right in the world and she's just retrieving her wallet and she didn't see the absolutely ridiculous bibs he's been putting on their kids for much longer than he'd admit to.

He analyzes her moments tentatively, but it's like there's not a thing out of the ordinary.

_Guess she didn't even see 'em._

He exhales sharply, running a shaky hand through his bangs and closing his eyes to catch his breath.

He blinks them open just in time for her to see her ball something up - quite viciously - in her hands and toss is - more like chuck it - into the trash bin.

He doesn't think much of it until he notices the familiar red fabric and stitching of the handmade bibs.

Ed lets a cross between a squeak and a gulp as his heart flies to his throat. His head whips back around to the kids; sitting happily in their highchairs without the bibs around their neck.

_Shit shit shit shit._

He jerks his head back around to come face to face with her as she walks past him again, wallet in hand.

His heightened nerves get the best of him again. "_Goddammit_, Winry, stop _doing_ that!"

She stops in her tracks and he feels like slapping himself for her.

_Now_ he's done it.

She tosses her head back to him; throwing him a cold, unamused gaze that refuses to leave his. He swallows dryly and shivers race down his spine; usually he gets this way when she looks at him in a bit of a different way, with more lust than anger.

"Uhhh," he mutters, letting out a nervous chuckle and getting ready to pour out the excuses before her lips turn up slightly and she turns back around.

"The sheets for the guest room are in the laundry basket," she says, a hint of irritation - and possibly satisfaction? - laced in her voice.

As she slams the door once again, she makes a mental note to buy new bibs and hide the sewing kit from her husband.


End file.
